


Renegade Mentality, remastered

by Kasan_Soulblade



Series: Of Shattered Glass/These Warped Perspectives [17]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Botta character study, Game Spoilers, Gen, Renegade centric, Yuan character study pre game post wars, friendship fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Refusal wasn't an option.  Nor was denial, or ignorance.</p><p>Such were discarded, it was the entry fee after all.</p><p>One act of heroism, an after invitation, and he'd have the last of his illusions torn away. Between wine and conversation they'd rebuild what stagnated, give hope that final chance.  Because final chances were all that they had.  Him and his Lord both.</p><p>It was horrifying, humbling, and all his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Renegade Mentality, remastered

**Author's Note:**

> I broke this one shot into chapters.. honestly a forty page one shot is just too much… some small changes to plot, editing of course, such is the norm of this Project. To those who read thanks for the time. As for the estimate length, I'm guessing it will be about five chapters.
> 
> The original can be found here: 
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2569191/1/Renagade-Mentality
> 
> and yes, I know it's Yuan Ka-fai, I didn't know a t the time of my original TOS story publishing sprees and I've grown fond of my name.. so it stays.

Renegade Mentality

Chapter one

 

He entered the room, spotless steel, the steel plating made him think of the armor he normally wore. He was a large man, taller than most members of either of his parent races, but then with his twisted blood such abnormalities were to be expected.  His muscularity under his white robes was the mark of his more primitive parent and he bore his mother's eyes.

Normally when such a thing is said there is an implication of weakness for a woman's trait.  And in this he again broke the norm. Oh, he had inherited his mother's eyes, but they were the color of polished steel, and his eyes glittered with that same hardness hers had. Checking a huff of discomfort he left the sanctuary of steel sheathed walls and floor to step upon carpet. The floor was sheathed in a rich crimson, rich and thick the lot absorbed his large feet quite readily, threats nearly tickling the tops of his toes. While his sandals made this less impressive than say his steel toed boots would have he’d been ordered to eschew his more traditional wear.  On the plus side he _could_ better feel the plushness of the flooring, and after a long shift of walking too and fro across steel choked rooms it was a reprieve.  Still it was an ominous one.

 He should have been in his place, tending to machines that fed off of earth mana with his own powers so that his base, his home, would be a little better off.  Barring that he should have been permitted to retire to his quarters. The room was little more than a glorified closet; the only luxuries he favored were his cot and blankets that matched his current attire. But the normal, his norm, he’d been denied.

So, for this, he indulged a small defiance.  He thought of his bed, and the hour, and perhaps he yawned, with no one about he was not obligated to tell truth or lies. What he was obligated... well ordered to do, was to not ignore the summons of his superior officer.  To do so would set a bad example for the troops.

So he didn’t.

He’d crossed a world for this, to quite steel for softness, had dressed in attire he didn’t like but was requisite of his rank when being formal, and managed to keep something of the military about his posture while he went.

Knocking on the door frame, a precarious thing, considering how slim it was and how big his fist was, the man deeper in the room lifted his head from the desk.  And yes, it was man.  Though the person sported a delicate face and long cerulean locks, the person was male.  The pointed ears gave some pardon for his delicate features for clearly he favored the elf side of his bloodline.

Slanted eyes, Botta noted, ever so slight, they thinned at spying him.  Crossing his arms the intruder waited.  The gesture came, a lazy unfurl of digits that said “enter” sans sound. The man behind the desk openly let his gaze scroll up and down his intruder, and then his lips quirked at examinations end.

Despite the smile there was something inherently somber about the stationary man.

Still, intruder did as he was bid, and was no longer such, invitations made the visitor after all.

Perhaps gleaning the slant of his thoughts, the watcher’s smile kicked up a notch, enough that there was a hinting of teeth about the fore.  Or perhaps the smile came from a yawn and grumble that Botta’d not meant to indulge.  Setting aside pen and papers with obvious hesitance, a second snatched to scrawl something down amongst a mess of lines, the blue haired man nodded, indicating the chair before his desk as he had done all things thus far, wordlessly.

Seated, Botta waited and was in turn made to wait.  While he waited Botta set metallic hued eyes to roaming.  Papers and desk were the centerpiece of the room, opulent carpet aside the lot was rather Spartan. A steel bookshelf kept guard with the desk, it was jammed with books, but without dust, and was set smartly.  One seated could simply loll back and with an outstretch hand access at least two of the four shelves he spied.  Three… actually, considering the length of the man’s arms.  Though not tall the blue haired man was long limbed and the fingers followed suit of the limbs in matters of length.

Still, allusions of laziness aside, the man was not lazy.  Or at least bore none of the stereotypical signs of obesity or scrawniness.

“Manners I suppose are due, allusions of them aside.”  Thus spoke the… whatever he was.  Bureaucrat, glorified secretary, his Lord’s designated face, some random Yes Man?  Titles and rank weren’t obvious, save for the outré manner of their dress.  But once one reached a certain rank one was expected to dress different from the masses. It made them obvious targets, yes, but that was the point.  The few sacrificed for the many, and thus were allowed the indulgence of vanity and style.  It was just his lot that his men had foisted him off with something he’d normally not wear due to losing a bet. Still, fate of the cards aside, amongst their group there were standard marks of rank, and those marks were obscured by the man’s black cloak.  For about the shoulders were the normal, proper place for medals and the like to be pinned Sylvarant side, that or about the cuffs of one sleeves.

As for all other identifiers, the stoop of the seated man’s posture hid what little of his chest his cloak did not.  As for his hands and their adornments the piles of paper were as much a screen as a labor.  There _was_ a glint of red about the man’s throat, and the clasp sporting a blue (lopsided and embedded in steel polished to a silvery burnish) semiprecious gem of some sort.

It’s lopsided oval, the fact it was craft of steel, and the steel was polished to a silvery burnish told of affection.  Openly worn, but only noted after observation.  Curious that.  Sensing his guest’s regard, perhaps the assessment of its worth, one hand lifted to touch the accessory.  To that the last piece was told, the last bit of the tale.

A ring, half silver half gold, glinted about the middle digit marking the man as bound to another for life.

There were no pictures upon that desk.

“Satisfied?” inquired the man, aborting the defensive gesture and mirth in one motion.  Still the speed that the man’s black gloved hand dropped and was thus obscured by duties crush was telling.

“Tired.”  Botta admitted, letting his exhaustion show. It had been a long day, and this mystery at its end was unwelcome. “Curious, but not enough to be shuttled from world to world to get that curiosity satiated.”

“Fair enough.”  The man’s voice was curt, clipped, but beyond that hardly beyond the mundane.  “And considering everything, understandable, hence why we won’t waste each other’s time genuflecting and the like,”  Then manners remembered, though the man’s scowl told of how repugnant it was to act upon them, the last was tabbed on with obvious irritation. “If that’s acceptable, of course?”

“More than.”  The sentiments ending yawn caused the blue haired half elf to chuckle.

“Such exhaustion, I do apologize for this delay and for the subterfuge necessary to get you here.”

“Subterfuge?”  Botta hummed, eyes thinning.  “How so?  I was told I was meant to meet Lord Yuan’s Second, to schedule a fuller meeting about Sylvarant’s safety protocols, and to deliver my assessment in person.  If this is not to be it’s merely a cancelation, at which point I am of course free to go, as I was free to come.”  To the answering head tip and the blue lock it dislodged to fall in those green eyes, Botta chuckled.  “I am off duty, after all.”

“Sector patrol leaders, especially of the fifth division, are notorious for not taking days off.”

“You’re… well informed.”  To the man’s show of nothing, a face void of emotion and expression, scarcely breathing besides, Botta continued, making a point to appear unaffected. “It’s an Earth Magi thing.  Rock headed, hence why my direct subordinate is a Wind Magi… he started getting pushy, when they start doing that-”

“-either the worlds about to end or you’re being stupider than normal.  Path of least resistance is not the purview of the water magi alone, and with _those_ types it’s almost a necessity.”  The blue haired man grinned, and the expression after that blankness was startling.  No, jarring.  The man’s face folded into neutral lines between one blink and another and Botta bravely resisted the urge to pinch himself to see if he were awake.

The lot of this misadventure was fey and dreamlike, truly it was.

  “They make wonderful gages for testing the limit of things, material and arcane.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not one for using people to test things.”

“So I’ve been told.”  Green eyes flicked to Botta’s hand, the scrutiny hardly cut off by such simple things as matter and obstructions.  It took the brunette’s utmost willpower not to flinch when those eyes raised up to meet his.  “I’ve also been told that you are here to meet Yuan’s Second.”

“Yes.”

“You sound… busy? Declining is an option.”

To that Botta grinned, shaking head and strangeness off with one motion.

“Not in the Renegades, it isn’t.”

“Well then.”  And to that the man smiled, smiled and stood and here was a miracle of sorts.  The smile stayed and warmed the eyes, and was genuine where all the other motions before had been just that.  Motions.  “Allow me introductions, revelation, and truth. Though they are late, and deliberately so, so I won’t ask for forgiveness.  My name is Mer. Yuan Yggdrasil-Vor’esse, it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Botta of the Fifth Division.”

The hand offered, while firm and gloved was cold as ice, it was a near painful contrast to the warmth in the man’s eyes.

  Lips twisting, as if unable to resist, the man bore more than “a little teeth” and yes there was mirth dancing amongst those eyes.  Small mercies none of the man’s teeth were pointed nor was there a whiff of brimstone to the man.  Idle, treacherous thought, Botta figured Aroon to be disappointed at such revelations.  There’d been a betting pool and all.

All unaware of his underling’s thoughts, Yuan continued, and if the tone was pompous, well for one his age and experience some things could be excused.  He’d been about during the purple prose literary movement in one world, and likely had to live through it in the other.

All excuses were off if the man had _inspired_ said movement though.

“I am your Lord, and founder of the Renegades.”

“I’m… familiar with the... Order’s… ah history, Sir.”

Fingers going numb, he wiggled them, and to that Yuan let them go. Still smiling, he folded into his chair with a cat like grace that Botta was beyond envying.  He was content to just sit and happy the chair held. There was a ghost of malice amongst the humor, and both danced along the green like twin demons.

“Glad to hear it.  Wine?  I know the hours late, but to such a tremendous meeting of the minds, between worlds no less, some leniency of protocol would be understandable.”

Considering today, and yesterday, and honestly the whole month and everything before it…

“What the hell, why not?”


End file.
